


When you wake

by Godaddyolus



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coping, F/M, I'm taking several liberties with Galahdian culture, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Religious Content, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Survivor Guilt, Video Game Mechanics, Whump, baby's first XV fic, comatose character, cor has an emotion and it's awful, mixed with real world mechanics, nyxcorexchange, selena lives because i say so, set in brotherhood era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-28 09:31:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godaddyolus/pseuds/Godaddyolus
Summary: Cor's coping, trying to anyway. Luckily he's got a handful of Galahdans to keep him relatively sane.(He still might pick a fight with a god.)





	When you wake

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to all of my lovely friends in the Discord server, you're all wonderful and I love you a lot!  
> (Also Rie, I blame you for making me ship Lib/Selena)
> 
> Forewarning: I typically write humor not whump. This was...different. Lol

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Of course he is, he’s Nyx Fucking Ulric, the man who courts death. _‘Not because I_ want _to die, but so someone else has the chance to live a little bit longer.’_ He’d said with one of those sad smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth, because Nyx _Fucking Ulric_ didn’t give two shits about his own life.

Not just in the way soldiers went into the line of duty with their heads held high, knowing they'd be sacrificing themselves for King and country. No, Nyx would fling himself into the most dangerous situation like it was something he _deserved._ Like he was punishing himself.

And didn’t that just _hurt_.

Cor sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands. “You’re such a fucking idiot.” He muttered into his own skin. “Why do you always have to be the hero?”

Only the rhythmic beating of the heart rate monitor answered him.

*

_They were soldiers, both of them._

_They knew that whenever Cor was sent on a mission, or Nyx was sent to the front lines, that there was the possibility they’d never see each other again. They knew and came to terms with that fact-had to for the sake of their relationship._

_That didn’t stop the Marshal from burying his nose in the hair that covered the back of Nyx’s neck the night before the younger man’s deployment, telling him not to do anything stupid._

_No, not telling. It was a command, because Cor knew how stupid Nyx could be. Bravery-a polite man’s way of saying stupidity-was something that the Glaive had in spades. Combine that with a reckless streak that went on for miles and you got the nightmare that was Nyx Ulric._

_Unfortunately, there was one very important detail about Nyx Ulric that had been forgotten: He was shit at following orders._

_Cor wouldn’t be making that mistake a second time._

_(If there was one)_

*

When asked, the Marshal would say that he had been in a meeting with Regis when the Glaives had returned. No fanfare, not even a phone call to the King’s head secretary, there never was. The Kingsglaive always returned as covertly as they left.

Cor honestly couldn’t remember the details of what he and Regis had been discussing at the time-something about the Council complaining about the Crownsguard’s annual budget being as...forgiving as it was, but beyond that, nothing.

Everything before the call had become white noise. Something that his brain registered as _existing_ and _there_ , but refused to process.

Really, the fact that he was being called at such an odd time should have set off alarm bells. Instead, when his phone had vibrated in his pocket, a constant, rhythmic buzz that was distracting him from his King, he ignored it; thinking it nothing more than another silly request-probably from Clarus. If it was really important they'd call back, he’d reasoned.

Preferably later.

…

Apparently _later_ means _thirty seconds_.

The second time it vibrated he snuck it out of his pocket to glance at the name, ready to give the caller a piece of his mind for calling while he was on duty.

If it was Noctis asking for help escaping his lessons again, he was going to put the boy through training _hell_. Twenty laps around the Citadel would be a nice warm up...

The name glaring up at him, three syllables and sweet and _not_ the Prince’s, caused an icy pit to form in his core.

**_Selena_ **

If Selena was calling during the middle of the day then something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She wouldn’t call otherwise. “‘Scuse me, Regis.” Regis gestured with his hand for him to pick up, worry etched into his brows. That ball of ice sunk deep into Cor’s stomach as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Selena? What-”

“- _I’m sorry! I Just-I got off the phone with Lib. He...Nyx was supposed to call-he_ always _calls_ ...” Her voice broke off into choked sobs. Cor was well aware of his partner's ritual. Nyx would call his sister when he got home to let her know that he was back and safe (and after that he’d send Cor a stupid selfie from somewhere in the city-their bed was becoming his new favorite location). “ _Lib wouldn’t-he was_ crying _Cor. Can you check please? Make sure he’s…_ ” _Not dead._

“Cor?” Regis knelt in front of his long-time friend. When had he gotten out of his chair? How did Cor let his guard down like that? “What happened?” Regis's voice was soft, cautious, like Cor was a spooked animal he was trying to soothe.

“I don’t...I need to go down to the Infirmary.” He stood, practically running out of the room without being dismissed by his King. There may or may not have been confirmation about a rain check for this conversation-the King had said something to his retreating back that he didn’t quite catch. Cor made a mental note to ask Regis later. “I’m on my way Selena. If he’s not dead then I’ll kill him myself.”

*

Nyx was alive, as far as he knew.

Cor had made it to the Infirmary and had been told that yes, Glaive Ulric had been admitted with serious, life threatening injuries and was in Surgery, now could you please sit down and stop bothering the other patients Mr. Leonis? Pacing like a caged animal won't make the surgeons work faster.

That had been over six hours ago.

In the time since, Altius had come to the waiting area with her head and hands wrapped in thick gauze and collapsed in the chair in the corner, asleep before Cor could ask her what the fuck happened. Any other time Cor would be impressed by the avoidance tactic. Now he only felt the urge to scream.

Khara was next at around the two hour mark, helping Selena limp to the chair closest to Cor; he’d been home on leave and knew just as much as Cor, was just as worried too.

Selena had Cor's hand trapped in hers the moment she sat down, like it was the only thing grounding her and keeping her from sobbing. Cor squeezed back just as fiercely.

Right before the four hour mark Ostium hobbled in. If it wasn’t for Selena’s iron grip on his hand or the fact that the only thing keeping the injured Glaive standing upright was the crutch he was leaning heavily on, Cor would have slammed the man against the wall, demanding answers. As it were, he let the other man sink into the seat next to his wife and pull her tight against his side before the questions started.

“ _What. Happened_ .” Cor hissed. How did a simple reconnaissance mission to the northern corner of Cleigne go _so_ wrong?

Later, he would begrudge the fact that he had spent enough time amongst the group for them to no longer be cowed by his ‘Angry face’. Ostium merely sighed, a full bodied sigh that released air and energy in equal parts until there was nothing left, staring at the bulletin board across from them but seeing something else entirely.

“There was an ambush. Gods we were so outnumbered-and out _gunned_. The Captain, he said…he said four would be enough. When it wasn’t he ordered us to retreat.

“We were _trying_ , Cor. There were almost a dozen prototype MA’s, but they were...different. Crowe had to work double time to keep them at bay because the bastards were barely taking any magic damage. Burnt her hands using Firaza for as long as she did.” Both pride and sorrow evident in his gaze as he glanced at the sleeping Glaive.

“We took a couple of them out, and we thought we were gaining the upper hand. Then...then a fucking _Daemonwall_ showed up.” He spat. “I thought they were just a _myth_ ! I've only heard of Daemonwall sightings in Steyliff-Nyx too. He...he _froze_...he’s never...it was only a second but…”

But a second is all it takes in the battlefield.

Cor felt his eyes close. He had lost good soldiers because they allowed themselves that one moment of weakness. Astrals, he could only imagine what happened to his...to Nyx.

“They blew a hole through his chest.” Apparently, he could not. His eyes flew open, landing in the corner where Altius still sat with her eyes closed. The words were sharp and brutally honest, he expected no less from her. Still...it didn’t stop the blood from turning to ice in his veins. “Spine, organs, ribcage...you name it and it and it exploded out of him from a hole about...this big.” Ignoring the horrified expressions of her friends, she drew a sizable circle beneath her clavicle.

“I had a chunk of his heart on my face. Right here.” With a macabre, watery laugh, Ostium pointed to a spot just below his left eye. Not a spot where Nyx’s no-longer-internal organ belonged. “I _think_ it was his heart. I don’t know. It was a piece of him that belonged inside his body, not on my face. He just _collapsed_. I don’t…” The man let out an angry noise as he scrubbed his face with his hands.

“Lib put a Phoenix Down in his hands- _fuck_ ! The noises his body made as it put itself back together...I don’t think I’ll ever forget it...I watched his _spine_ grow back. And his heart... _ugh_.” Indeed, the wet, gurgling noises organs and muscles made as they bubbled back into their original form were hard to forget.

Ostium made a face, going a little green. “ _You_ weren’t standing next to him! Six it was...it was too much. We don’t have enough beer in Little Galahd to help me forget it.” Selena swats the unbound part of his arm, telling him that he can drink his sorrows away over her dead body. The room got eerily silent after that. “A-anyway, he was up and fighting again like he had the Infernian himself at his heels. He wasn’t even done healing yet! He was wild- _Berserk_ -taking blow after blow and giving back twice as much, getting healed before his body hit the ground just so he could get up and do it again. I don’t even think he felt it when he took a hit. And his eyes they...”

“Why didn’t you guys leave?.” Khara, ever the tactician, asked. That was something that Cor wanted to know. They should have retreated the moment the Daemonwall appeared, let the Niffs deal with it.

“Because there was a farm less than a mile out.”

 _Right_.

Which meant _civilians_.

It wasn’t hard to connect the dots from there.

Nyx _had_ to be a hero, and what was more heroic than saving defenseless civilians from a super powered daemon?

“Six, he went on for ages...then...”

“We had one more MA to take down. The plan was for the three of us to get one good shot in and then focus on the daemonwall. We had it pinned to the ground, vulnerable, and ready to kill it. The next thing we knew Nyx was being flung around like a ragdoll. ‘Parently the curative decided that Nyx was making it work too much. It stopped healing him and Nyx turned into the Daemon’s plaything.”

The story doesn’t last much longer. They tossed a spare potion at Nyx, knowing it won’t heal much, but hoping it’ll keep him out of death’s grasp long enough to get home. The final MA explodes, dealing some damage to their remaining adversary, and the Glaives could finally focus their attention to the daemon. With their combined skill and effort-whatever Nyx will say when he wakes up is a goddamn lie, all he did was get the daemon warmed up and ready for them, really-they managed to take it down after an undisclosed amount of time. They fell back to their pick-up point and during the ride back they used whatever spare potions they had left on Nyx-not that they did much other than treat the surface wounds-, and here they were.

Fun story, right?

  
“I’m actually going to kill him.” Cor says to no one in particular. Several noises of agreement echo back at him.

Minutes ticked on. The big hand on the clock was mocking them, purposely going slower and slower as it got louder and louder. An annoying, insistent noise that drilled into their heads to the point where Cor was going to rip it off the wall and fling it out a window if it didn’t stop.

The clock was saved by the doors to the Operating Room opening as an exhausted doctor made his way out. His scrubs were bloody, _too_ bloody.

“Are you _all_ here for Nyx Ulric?” They nod. “He’s stable, for now.” There’s no synchronized sigh of relief, not when there’s the underlying implication that Nyx could still die. The doctor doesn’t help by listing Nyx’s injuries-a list so long that the Marshal’s ears started buzzing loud enough to tune him out.

Lacerations; shattered bones; a punctured lung; a spinal fracture; Lichtenberg figures marring his hands-odd; refractory shock; something that sounded suspiciously like organ failure-no, at high risk for it; something else about excess fluids in the cranial cavity-wait, _drills_ ? The word _coma_ made Cor stand a little straighter.

_“Excuse me?”_

The doctor leveled him with an unimpressed look. “Glaive Ulric has suffered excessive traumatic head injuries, Marshal. It needs time to heal too. Your friend is lucky he isn't dead.” Dismissive, patronizing, like Cor was a child asking silly questions.

He’s never wanted to punch a civilian more.

“Can we see him?” Asked Selena, narrowly avoiding the potential conflict.

The doctor motions for them to follow.

They must look a sight. Two Glaives still in fatigues, all bloody and bandaged; one Glaive in his Civvies, vibrating with the suppressed urge to just warp ahead of everyone; and one tiny Galahdan woman clutching the forearm of Cor the Immortal as she limped alongside him.

Luckily, there was no one in the hall of the ICU to gawk at them.

Room 1C was nothing special, on the outside. A solid door beside a curtain covered window, belying nothing of the occupant who resides within. No noise was loud enough to permeate through the wood. No light bright enough to sneak below the curtains’ end.

Indeed, when the door swings open the only noise to be heard was the gentle whirring of machinery and the soft _beep beep beep_ of the heart monitor. A small bedside lamp provided the only light in the room. Warm, jarringly contrasted by the angry fluorescent lights of the hallway.

If you took away the medical equipment and the constant, looming threat of death, the room actually seemed quite peaceful and pleasant.

The figure at the center of it all? Not so much.

Seeing Nyx bedridden was something that would haunt Cor for the rest of his life. He looked like to and through hell only to be spat back up.

There was nothing natural about the paleness of his sun-kissed skin, what little could be seen from under the braces and bandages. Or the stillness of his body. Nyx should be up and about, giving them his patented shit eating grin as he pushed his body to move beyond what the doctors deemed acceptable. That’s just how Nyx was: always moving and causing some sort of trouble for those around him.

Comatose Nyx was not something that Cor had ever prepared himself for-and he prepared himself for a _lot_. The idea that he would one day find Nyx motionless in a hospital bed with more tubes jammed into his body than Cor thought possible had never even crossed his mind. Honestly, the only time he thought he would ever see Nyx so still would be on a slab in the Morgue. Macabre, yes (and that earned him a hard smack from Selena when he accidentally voiced the thought) but the truth.

“He’s alive.” Choked Selena. Cor doubted that that was the appropriate term to use given the state her brother was in. Could one really be alive when you needed a machine to breathe for you?

That thought doesn’t seem to cross Selena’s mind as she sits on the one part of the bed that wasn’t covered in tubes and wires. She grabbed one of his gauze covered hands and squeezed. Gently, mind you.

She didn’t say anything for the rest of the evening.

Not even her husband bringing the items necessary for the nightly unbraiding pulled words passed her lips. Her prayers were silent.

When the time came for visitors to leave Selena had been ordered to leave by a nurse who had taken one look at the braids in her hair and sneered. She went, not because she was cowed by the prejudice words of a rat, but because she knew that her brother wouldn’t be left alone.

Because as soon as that rat turned to kick him out, Cor leaned as far back onto the stiff chair as possible, resting his feet atop Nyx’s bed with them crossed at the ankle, and cocked an eyebrow, _daring_ the man to kick him out. He didn’t, of course. Not balls-y enough. Instead the man had turned a shade of red that clashed horribly with his scrubs, babbling nonsense about how the Marshall shouldn’t be wasting his time on ‘ _their kind_ ’.

“Nyx Ulric is a good friend of mine.” Was the only response Cor gave to the rat. It was enough to send him running; if he had a tail, it would have been tucked between his legs.

Another nurse came in sometime later, bringing with her a spare cot and a tray of shitty hospital food. She left after checking each machine. At least she was more pleasant than the last one.

Cor dined on tasteless meat that he thought was Turkey. Probably. Maybe? It didn’t matter what it was, Cor finished his food before he even realized he had taken a second bite. He stretched out on his cot, staring at Nyx’s prone form, listening to the loud intakes of air that filled the silence.

He’d been in this field for many years, lost too many comrades to count (two hundred and eighty seven). He knew not to get his hopes up.

And yet…

As he lay in his uncomfortable cot he couldn’t help that little ball that bubbled up every time he glanced at the heart rate monitor and saw a normal pulse. That obnoxious little bubble made Cor do something for the first time in his life.

He prayed.

_‘Just this one. Don’t take this one. Please.’_

Cor wasn’t religious by any means, despite the fact that he probably _should_ be because of all the crazy shit in his life, but Nyx was. His daily prayers to Ramuh meant a great deal to the Galahdian. Maybe that would be enough.

He hoped.

*

_Nyx swung his gym bag over his shoulder. “I’m leaving!” He yelled, causing his older lover to grimace._

_“So I heard. As did the rest of the complex.” Cor stated, not bothering to look up from his book._

_At this point in their relationship, such comments make Nyx grin like the Imp he was. “Good. That means I have witnesses.”_

_The older man paused, cocking an eyebrow. “...To?”_

_“Well, if something happens to me while I’m out, they can corroborate your alibi. Or, if you finally snap and kill me before I leave, I’ll have people looking for me. Then your pretty face will be sharing a jail cell with a man named Buck who’ll try to kill you in your sleep at least seven times.”_

_“You’ve thought this through, haven’t you? I’m honored.”_

_Nyx threw his head back and laughed. “The unfortunate byproduct of too much daytime television.” Another chuckle escaped his lips. “Seriously though, I have to head out. Promised Lib I’d meet him at the gym. Gotta keep your eye candy looking fine.” The kiss that was pressed to Cor’s lips was upside down over the back of the couch, and quick, rivaling the speed of his racing heart._

_There would_ never _be a day where Cor didn’t adore the way Nyx looked. He wanted to reach out, hook his fingers in the belt loops of the other man’s jeans and make him stay._ Show _him how perfect he thought each inch of skin was. Kiss him until Nyx knew that every breath that fill Cor’s lungs held the echo of his name. Show him his weaknesses, how every small quirk of Nyx’s lips caused his heart to beat just a little faster; how the simplest, sweetest touches caused him to falter in a way that none other had managed before-._

_Another quick kiss was pressed right above his ear. “Try not to burn the house down while I’m gone, okay? The housing market is awful right now.”_

_He just had to reach out…_

_“I’ll be back in a few hours.”_

**_Needed_ ** _to-_

_“Love you Cor!”_

_Cor’s hands remained where they were, holding his poor book in white-knuckle grip as he watched Nyx walk out the door._

*

It was difficult to get any sleep. The cot that had no right calling itself a bed was too firm and too cold to find any semblance of comfort. Nurses came in at hourly intervals to check on Nyx-good for Nyx’s sake, but Cor didn’t trust the hospital staff enough to let his guard fall in sleep. He ended up taking two or three power naps in between the nurses’ visits and the long periods of watching the unconscious man.

He still hadn't moved. Not even a twitch.

Selena was back in the morning, looking much better than she had the night before. Ostium hobbled in shortly after, clapping him on the shoulder and saying ‘Go home and take a fucking shower, Marshal. You look like shit.’ like the charming man he is.

A snarky retort on how Ostium looked just as bad, if not _worse_ had the Galahdan man chuckling as he pushed Cor into the hall. Unwillingly, he left, cursing ICU and their stupid two visitor capacity as he marched down the hallway.

It reeked of antiseptic.

The Marshal walked a little faster.

He should have turned left to the lobby, gone home and eaten some real fucking food after a hot shower and then get some actual sleep. Instead he turned right, towards the hospital kitchens.

It was smaller than the communal mess hall shared between Glaive and Crownsguard. Less populated too, though it was sure to fill up now that visiting hours started. The food was just as tasteless and tacky as it had been the night before; his coffee both burnt and watery. An unsatisfying start to his day after an unsatisfying night.

Someone sat beside him, placing a familiar green and white takeaway cup against the edge of Cor's plate. “Figured you’d need some real coffee.” Clarus says in lieu of a greeting. “How is your friend?” Because _of course_ the man knew why Cor was here; Clarus was the nosiest motherfucker he’d ever met! Always sticking his nose into the Marshal’s business where it didn’t belong.

For the first time in his life, Cor couldn’t find the energy to be angry about it.  

He took a long swig of the coffee. Black. Sweet. Nyx liked- _likes_ -to tell him that he’d rot his teeth out one day from all the sugar he consumes. Worth it. “Alive, so the doctor’s say.”

Clarus rested his chin on a fist. “You don’t think so?” To which Cor shrugged.

“I’ve been doing this job for a long time, so I’m not…” _Getting my hopes up_ was left unsaid, but the Shield heard him perfectly. His face contorted into something Cor rarely saw directly at him. So foreign it made his insides squirm uncomfortably. Sympathy, _pity_.

Pity was not something the Marshal needed or wanted, not even from his longtime friend. Cor stood fast enough that his chair nearly toppled over. “Thanks for the coffee.” He left as quickly as he stood, weaving his way between tired patrons eager for their morning meal, ignoring Clarus calling his name in his wake.

Home was still not his destination. Not yet ready to face his empty apartment, he made his way up through the empty levels of the Citadel until he reached his office. At this time of the day there would only be a handful of people skulking about, hopefully too tired or too intimidated to question why the Marshal was even _there_.

Monica’s door was open; the one directly beside his own. Shit. There went any hope of a quick and easy trip.

She and Dustin sat hunched over her desk with steaming mugs, staring at various reports that Cor had unfairly (purposefully) forced upon them. Both looked up as he tried to sneak by.

If Monica was surprised to see him so early, she didn’t show it beyond a quirk of her eyebrow. “Late night or early morning?”

“Yes.” Dustin snorted into his mug at the response.

Honestly, Cor found nothing humorous about it. But they didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need to know that the slight upturn of his lips was a mere parody of the one he’d normally wear, for the sake of avoiding any further questioning.

He bypassed Monica’s office, going directly into his own, rarely used one.

As the door clicked shut behind him he let out a breath, sagging against the the wood. The sooner he got what he needed the sooner he could go home and avoid any more social interactions. The sooner he could get back to Nyx.

Right. Grab what he came here for and go.

There’s nothing personal in here except a mug, courtesy of Nyx, that pictures a hand making a rude gesture. Everything else was bare or boring and in it’s designated spot. The only thing out of place was the stack of manilla folders and paperwork on the corner of his desk, ready to suffer the same fate as it’s countless predecessors and be passed onto Monica.

Well...Regis _was_ always telling him to take more responsibility-the kind way of saying: stop making others do your job for you. And there wasn’t much to do in the Infirmary beyond mindlessly watching daytime television or standing and waiting outside while the Glaives were with Nyx. Filling out official documents was a step up really.

…

 _Half_ a step.

With the pile tucked (purposely) safely under his arm, Cor banished his mug into the Arminger, locked his office, and left.

Any other day he would have relished in the looks on his colleagues’ faces as they saw _what_ he was leaving with. As it stood, his focus was on catching the elevator as soon as possible.

He _did_ go home after that. Finally.

It was intended to be a quick trip. The apartment was dark, gloomy, smelling of stale sweat and old dishes. Not unusual for this time of day. Not welcome either. Made him feel like an outsider in his own home, unease clawing its way under his skin at how _not right_ the apartment felt.

This was no longer the glorified rest stop he had purchased in his early twenties-more to appease Regis than an _actual_ desire for his own space beyond the barracks. In the years since, it had changed in all the best ways to become something unrecognizable. Something normally so warm and inviting, that made him eager to return home at the end of the day.  

Right now, that warmth lay in the unconscious hands of the man at the Citadel.

That didn’t mean that his presence wasn’t felt _everywhere_ though, like a smack to the face.

 _Literally_.

_“It amazes that you’re so damn oblivious at home.”_

Nyx’s leather jacket hung next to the door, as it always had (and Cor _always_ forgot about), close enough where the Marshal almost hit the sleeve as he shut the door. Clinging to it, the lingering, spicy scent of the cologne he loved so much. Cor trailed his fingers over it, closing his eyes, imagining warm, firm muscle under his fingers and not the cool nothingness that caved the soft leather under his touch. Nyx loved this jacket, even if the elbows were starting to wear and it had a tear along the inner lining that he _swore_ he was going to fix one day. He’d had it for years, longer than the Marshal knew him, and wore it during the important events in his life (like their first date, or Ostium’s bachelor party, ~~fleeing Galahd~~ ).

Nyx would want to wear it when he left the infirmary.

 _If_ he left.

Cor draped it over his shoulder.

Since Nyx moved in, Cor’s apartment was filled with clutter. Dirty clothes draped over the couch; clean dishes still in the drying rack instead of the cupboards and dirty dishes still soaking in the sink (okay, that one was on Cor); photographs pinned to the walls and fridge; candles everywhere, because Nyx would burn one until it was half gone, only to replace it with a new one; knickknacks from regions beyond the wall; smelly gym bags in any other place _but_ the closet where they belonged; weapons _everywhere_...

Once upon a time, this kind of clutter would have irked the older man. In the beginning, the apartment was nothing more than a place to rest his head at night, and was treated as such. Nothing beyond the necessary was allowed, lest they find a new home at the bottom of the garbage bin.

_“Listen, is it really so bad to make the apartment look like it was actually lived in?”_

Now, it was hard to imagine his home without it. And seeing the clutter made his heart clench uncomfortably tight, knowing that the man responsible for this mess was nowhere in sight.  

Sighing, Cor placed the jacket, his mug, and his papers onto the small island that separated the kitchen from the rest of his living space.

Might as well clean up before making his way back to the Citadel. Nyx always liked a clean house, or the _idea_ of one anyway, since the younger man never wanted to actually take part in the clean up.

It would make of a nice surprise. See Regis? Cor could do nice.

The laundry was tackled first, sorted into three piles: two tiny ones consisting of light clothes and clothes that require bleaching, and a massive pile of dark clothing. The smallest load went in first on a short cycle.

Dishes come next while the washer runs. It was quick and easy putting away the clean dishes. Attacking burnt on sludge from the stew Cor had forgotten about took more focus. Despite two days of soaking, sludge and pot had unified into one being on the cusp of creating its own ecosystem. Right. Armed with a bottle of heavy duty cleaner and a brand new scrub brush, he got to work.

Nyx would appreciate not having to be the one salvaging their cookware for once. The thought urged a little more force behind the brush.

Really, a clean house with clean clothing and dishes free of suspicious substances will be nothing but beneficial for Nyx’s recovery. No cleaning, no stress. He scrubs harder.

Nyx should have nothing to worry about except how to entertain himself for hours on end when he comes home.

 **_If_ ** _he comes home._

Too much force and a too tight grip make the brush break into two with a loud _snap_ , causing the plastic to scrape a deep mark on the inside of the pot.

Out of everything, _this_ was what set him off.

Not seeing Nyx’s unconscious body. Not reading his charts at four in the morning because sleep was too far out of his reach. Not hearing Selena weep for her brother. Not Clarus’s ill-placed pity. Not even being completely suffocated by Nyx’s presence at home, right down to the scent that teased him every time he took a breath.

No. Instead it was the contrast of the jagged, silvery welt against the dark pot that caused his eyes to mist over. The utter silence of the apartment, devoid of laughter or heart monitors, drew the first burning tears as he stared at the ruined cookware.

It wasn’t like it held sentimental value-far from it. Just a simple pot they had picked up on a whim one day because it was on sale.  

 _“Let me lust after kitchenware in peace, Marshal.”_ Nyx had laughed as he placed the pot in the carriage.

It slammed into the sink, sloshing dirty water over the counter.

Down Cor slid. Down, down, down, until he was hunched over his knees, forehead against the cool wood of the cabinets.

Something in his brain finally snapped. Like two puzzle pieces fitting into place after trying every possibility. Nyx wasn’t home.

 _Nyx wasn’t home_.

And Cor was _alone_.

No nurses to distract him from his thoughts. No Selena. No Ostium. No Clarus. He was finally, blessedly, alone. Allowed to release his frustrations and _grieve_.

A frustrated, animalistic noise tore through his throat, reverberating all the way down to his bones as he curled tighter into his knees.

Why did Nyx always have to be the Hero? When was he going to draw the line? Why was he constantly crossing the point in his line of duty where fighting became self sacrifice and martyrdom. Didn’t he know how much he meant to them-to _Cor_? Why did he treat his life like it was worth nothing?

Did he really hate his life that much?

_“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I came to this city.”_

No. He didn’t-couldn’t- _hate_ it. Maybe he had, once. But there was no way that this man who fought for his people, both on the physical battlefield and political one, _hated_ his life.

He certainly didn’t _value_ it.

And _six_ that makes him ache. He treasures Nyx more than the other man knows. Would bend mountains, bottle oceans, pluck the stars from the sky if Nyx asked. There was only one other person who could claim such devotion from the Immortal-the unquestioning kind the soldier held for his King. He tried explaining it to Nyx, once. But what had come out had been a half-mumbled, incomprehensible monologue about loyalty and dedication that left the younger man confused after.

There were three words that worked better. Nyx would have liked them better.

Maybe it would have made him a little less reckless.

If Cor knew how to articulate his thoughts better maybe...

The noise he makes his caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

It’s illogical, he knows, to put such blame on his shoulders. He’s given the ‘It’s not your fault’ speech enough times where he’s memorized it as an actor would their lines. Everything, from the intonation to the phrasing, was perfected until he could give the speech without feeling much beyond a numbness in his chest.

Feelings _aren’t_ logical though.

_“Cor, it’s not your fault.”_

He’d been on the receiving end of such talks only a handful of times. Each attempt at breaking through ending in utter failure, leaving him alone with a bottle of cheap booze and his own guilt. Because deep down, he _knew_ he was at fault. _He_ was the most capable, most able to do _something_ . _Anything_.

Yet he had done _nothing_.

Now Nyx...

The washer pinged.

The buzz was enough to release him from the depths of his mind, snapping him back into reality with enough force to unbalance him, landing flat on his ass.

“Well...that was fucking productive.” He deadpanned to the ceiling light. It attempted to blind him in response. “Alright Leonis, get your ass in gear.”

Lead had made its home in his bones, making every movement agonizingly slow. He pushed himself up, to keep going. Always does. He hauled himself back into a standing position, arched over the sink as he took a few calming breaths.

The man staring back at him looks like shit-and it wasn’t because of the murky water. Right. Time to end the pity party.

He moved about the apartment, albeit slowly. Switching over the laundry, cleaning the rest of the dishes-hiding the evidence of his recent...ah...episode, putting Nyx’s gym bag away ( _again_ ).

Tears have come and gone, leaving his a sharp, throbbing behind his eyes that’s more annoying than anything. A handful of Aspirin was enough to dull the pain.

Once all the laundry was finished (meaning: the last load was in the dryer, where it would live for the foreseeable future), Cor packed a bag with enough clothes to last the week, with a comfortable change of clothes for Nyx tucked neatly under his leather jacket. He banished the bag into the Arminger. Following it: his paperwork, laptop, mug, his coffee maker with _real fucking coffee_ , and a plastic bag hastily filled with whatever Cor had left in his Emergency Kit (pocketing the topmost item before it was hidden away).

With the apartment clean, Cor didn’t spare it a second glance as he shut the door behind him, locking the space in a state of limbo as it awaited the return of its occupants. _Both_ of them.

~~Cor wouldn’t be returning without Nyx. Not again.~~

By the time he arrived back to Nyx’s room, it was nearly time for visiting hours to be over. Ostium stood in the doorway, talking to one of Nyx’s doctor’s as he watched his wife care for her brother. Still bandaged, and favoring one side.

“Any change?” Cor asked. From the look on the other man’s face, he could guess the answer. “Hn.” He turned to the doctor, a middle aged woman who wore an expression of practiced sympathy. “Is there any way of knowing when…?”

She shook her head, leading him a little ways away from the room. “To be honest, Marshal, I’m not sure. Your friend is very lucky to be alive. A subdural hematoma isn’t something that most people walk away from.” Right, he remembered one of the nurses making an off handed comment last night that had the potion not been administered as quickly as it was, the head injury alone would have killed Nyx before he made it back to Insomnia. “The swelling should go down soon.” She offered, like it meant something.

“Will he wake up when it does?”

“That’s not….” She inhaled through her nose, pinching the skin between her eyes. Yeah...Cor had that effect on people. “He will wake when he is _ready_ , Marshal. And we will continue to treat him as best we can while we wait.”

The little can in his pocket felt much heavier than it had when he made the split second decision to put it there. He took it out, turning it over until the cartoon daemon was snarling up at him. “Will this help?”

Unimpressed didn’t even begin to describe the look the doctor gave him. “Marshal Leonis, if his wounds don’t kill him, then the amount of sugar in that beverage certainly will.”

Cor had to resist rolling his eyes. It was so easy to forget that civilians didn’t handle curatives in their day-to-day. “It’s a Hi-Elixir, enchanted by the King himself. This was the only thing I had on me at the time.” _That_ got her attention. The doctor carefully took the can from his hands, almost as if she expected it to glow or do a magic trick. She turned it over several times, looking between it and Nyx’s chart, contemplative.

“I think...for now it’s best to let his body heal naturally. We don’t know how the Elixir will work given his comatose condition-plus we’ll have to remove the feeding tube, the IV, the ventilator and the endotracheal tube-”

“- _I get it_. He’s got important shit stuck in his body right now.” A noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl passed through his lips as he pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes. Astrals, why were things never easy with Nyx?

“Mm. Save this. Should he wake, I see no reason why you can’t give it to him once he’s no longer in need of the ventilator. I’m sure he’ll be just as eager to get out of here as you are.” She gave him back the can, forcing his fingers around it and giving them an infuriatingly patronizing pat. “Go say goodnight to your friends Marshal. They’ll be leaving soon.” With that the doctor left.

Cor walked back to Ostium’s side. The man was still leaning against the doorframe, face unreadable even to Cor as he stared at the room’s occupants. Just to be a dick (and maybe to get Ostium to stop doing an eerily accurate impression of the Marshal) Cor summoned the plastic bag in a flash of brilliant blue, hooking it over the curve of the younger man’s crutch. The weight nearly pulled it to the ground. Would have if the Glaive hadn't caught it at the last second.

Ositum sighed. He angled his head, giving Cor an exasperated look. “Couldn't just hand it to me like a normal person, could ya?”

“Nope.” Cor pointedly ignored the eye-roll sent his way. “Have you never learned the merit of gratitude, Ostium?”

The comment gets the intended effect. The Glaive scowled, but snatched the bag, searching through it. His eyebrows shoot up faster than a voretooth after it’s prey when he realizes what’s in the bag. “You…”

“They were just laying around. Figured you and Altius could find a better use for them.” There was no way that they would use four Elixirs and Hi-Potions between the two of them. Not when their wounds had already been treated. But maybe, if they were as smart as Cor liked to believe they were, they’d remember to bring them as extras the next time they were deployed. “You’re both on leave for the next few weeks anyway. I’m sure Selena will appreciate coming home and not having to take care of another injured idiot.”

If Ostium’s grin was a little wobbly, and his eyes a little misty, Cor refused to comment on it. “You sly bastard...you _do_ care!”

“I’m just looking out for Selena.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And Nyx would kill me if he found out that I had all these curatives hidden away while you two suffered.”

“ _Right_.”

Huffing, Cor pushed passed the snickering man. Selena was on the rock disguised as a chair, fingers slowly unraveling her brother’s braids as she muttered a nightly prayer to Ramuh. Her hands shook, not enough for it to be considered a Bad Day, but enough for her to be slower than normal.

“-let your storm be the winds that carries him home.” Her fingers smooth down the shorter hairs at the top of his head, taking care to avoid the wad of gauze and cotton where the surgeon had to drill into his skull. “Please…” She added, voice cracking at the end. “Please let him make it through this.”

The prayer is finished. There’s no sparkle or ethereal glowing signaling divine acknowledgement. There never was. That’s the shitty thing about dealing with the gods when you’re one of the common folk, you never know if they hear you...or if they even _cared_. The Astrals only seemed to care about those who had ‘Lucis Caelum’ tacked onto the end of their names.

He hoped, for the Fulgurian’s sake, that he was listening. If he wasn’t, Cor was going to find a way to kill a god.

Gently, he tapped Selena’s shoulder, only mildly surprised when she didn’t jump. “Go home Selena. I’ll watch over him.”  

Selena’s smile was just as wobbly as her husband’s as she stood. His thinks for a moment that she would just stand and leave, but since being full of surprises is a genetic trait shared amongst Ulrics, she doesn’t. Instead her thin arms curl around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. It’s awkward given the height difference and how she’s leaning against him enough where Cor ends up holding up most of her weight. But it’s nice. Comforting.

“He’ll be okay.” She whispered into his ear. Who it was meant to reassure was unclear.  

The night passed much like the one before. Quiet, with sub par food and nurses coming into the room at regular intervals. Cor stayed up by Nyx’s head for most of the night, on the side that didn’t have the man-made hole in it. Idly, he ran his fingers through the loose locks as he read through the reports, stopping only when the nurses came in, resuming when they left.

Any other time Nyx would be like putty in his lap, practically purring as Cor’s blunt nails scraped his scalp.

Now, he was silent. Still. Disturbingly so.

Only when it was closer to dawn than midnight and he caught himself reading the same line forty seven times did he banish his paperwork to the Arminger and crawl into his cot. Sleep didn’t come easy. Despite how his eyes burned he couldn’t find it in himself to close them. Like if he closed his eyes, stopped looking at Nyx, he would wake up and Nyx would be _gone_.

Eventually, he lost his battle against sleep and his eyelids started to close.

Again, he found himself praying to whoever would listen. Prayed for Nyx to do _something_ . Anything would be welcome. A twitch of the finger, movement behind the eyelids, a _sneeze_ ; anything that proved there was still the spark of life in Nyx.

And like the night before, there was no answer.

*

 _“_ _You_ _know, if you keep staring at them like that, your face will freeze that way.” Nyx stood arms length away, slouched against the wall with his arms crossed at the chest, and a leg propped up high enough where his knee bent._

_“Good.”_

_He could hear the eye-roll in Nyx’s scoff. “Yeah, it might be well and good for scaring the new recruits, but that’s not the face I want to see when I’m sucking you off.”_

_Cor head snapped to the side. Hello whiplash. “Not out loud!” He hissed. His scowl deepened, until each line threatened to be permanently etched onto his skin._

_“Sorry. Wouldn't want someone to find out Cor Leonis actually has a life beyond his duty to the crown.”_

_The older man gnashed his teeth together. “I’m_ not _having this argument again.”_

 _“I’m not arguing.” Nyx raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “I_ am _telling you to leave though. You’re stressed and trying to scare your recruits into complacency. You and I both know you’re not fit for work right now. Go_ home _, Marshal. Take a nice hot bath, enjoy a can of that shit you Lucians like to call beer-”_

_“Are you trying to seduce your senior officer, Ulric?”_

_“I might be. I also might bring home some stir-fry from that place you like pretending you’re not obsessed with._ If _I decide I still like you by the end of my shift, that is.”_

_A smile-if the slight upturn of lips could even be called that-cracked through the older man’s icy exterior. “I guess I’m fucked then.” To which Nyx grinned. Slow and sharp and full of teeth._

_“If I have my way, you will be.”_

*

He woke up to someone placing a container of greasy diner food next to his cot. A steaming mug of coffee following mere seconds later.

Altius sat by his feet with her own container, patting his knee to rouse him. She looked better than she had the last time they met. Healthier. Her hair was unbound, wild as ever, and the gauze that was once around her hands replaced by a pair of fingerless riding gloves.

Ostium wasted no time giving her the curatives, it seemed. Good. At least that was one thing off of Cor’s conscience.

Legs swinging over the side, Cor pulled himself up into a sitting position, grabbing his coffee and taking a long sip.

“Breakfast in bed. Didn’t know you liked me that much.” He’d said once the burn of the first mouthful lessened to a slight sting.

“Don’t get used to it.” Altius replied, before taking a bite of her sandwich.

She’d gotten him a similar one; bacon, egg, cheese in a butter-greased flatbread. Astrals, this was going to bite him in the ass later (probably give him one hell of a case of heartburn later), but at that moment it was a godsend.

“You’re my Hero, Altius.”

“Ugh, save it for Nyx.”

They ate in silence. Sitting side-by-side and changing the television channel every few seconds _just_ to piss the other off instead of talking. Because being utter shits to each other was the foundation of their friendship.

Finally, Altius balled up her garbage and threw it at the bin in a wide arch. It missed. “Thanks, for the Hi-Potion I mean. It was nice taking a shower without wrapping my hands in plastic first.”

“...You’re welcome.”

She ran her fingers along the lightning-esque scars that reached beyond the edge of the cast. They looked painful. The kind of mark you got when you were struck by lightning, not handling it. “Do you ever wonder how much of the King’s magic we’re allowed?”

No, he hadn’t. He told her such. He’d always assumed elemancy and warping were the extent. “Why do you ask?”

Altius removed her hand. “When we were...when Nyx went berserk...I _swear_ his eyes were _glowing_.”

Glowing? Like the times Regis’s would glow when using his stronger magics? Impossible. The _only_ reason it happened to Regis was because of his connection to the Astrals. You know, royal blood and all that bullshit. There was no way Regis’s power stretched enough to allow Glaives to _summon_ gods.

“-I know it sounds crazy, but it makes sense, right? He wouldn’t just leave Nyx there to _die_...right?” Oops. He hadn’t heard a word Altius just said. Oh, she was looking for an answer.

Play it safe and shrug, Leonis. “I don’t know.” He replied honestly.

That seemed to be a good enough answer for the woman. She sighed, resting her forearms on her thighs. “Guess we won’t know for sure until he wakes up. You hear me, Hero? I’m going interrogate the shit out of you once you wake up.”

....Cor almost felt bad for his lover. No one deserves to suffer through Altius’s idea of interrogation. Not even semi-suicidal idiots.

They lapsed back into silence after that.

It took nearly an hour for Altius to break the silence by pointing at something on the wall.

There was a little spot, no bigger than the palm of his hand, above Nyx’s bed. “Looks like a Tonberry.” She’d said, completely out of the blue. It did, he supposed. _If_ you looked at it from the right angle. “You should name it, Marshal. Give you something to talk to when you’re here alone.” Her lips quirked up on one side.

Right, because being walked in on while talking to himself was _just_ what he needed right now.

Whatever reputation Cor had before was ruined. Had to be, with all the time he was spending here. No doubt the rumor mill was having a field day over his adamance to remain by Nyx’s side. Their relationship was probably well-known by now to people whose opinions meant less than nothing to him. _Six_ , he could only imagine what the tabloids were coming up with!

He wouldn’t do it, if nothing else than for whatever shreds of his reputation that remained. Still, he could humor the Glaive.

Deliberating for a second, he came up with a name. “Tom.”

“... _Tom the Tonberry_ …”

“Tomberry for short.”

“...What the fuck does Nyx see in you again?” Horror dawned on her face as she realized what she set herself up for. “Don’t you _dare_. I’ve had enough trauma this passed week!”

“You asked.” Cor shrugged.

“And I regret it.”

“There there.” Softly, he patted her shoulder, voice oozing false condolences. “Honestly though, besides my _charming_ personality, I’m really not sure what he sees in me.” Her eyebrow rose, like she didn’t believe his words. Hook, line and… “Oh, that and he _loves_ when his dick’s in me.”

Sinker.

“ _Cor_ ! _Gross_ ! That’s like, talking about my _dads_ having sex!” Under pain of death, Cor Leonis would never confirm that the high-pitched shriek came from the woman beside him.

That didn’t stop him from chuckling at her expense.

...Nyx would be so proud.

*

Days bled into a week.

Nyx still hadn’t moved.

By the fourth day, Cor had filed more paperwork than he had in his entire career.

By the tenth day, the nurses stopped pretending that Nyx would wake up any time soon.

*

As was the morning routine, Selena came by. This time alone.

“Lib needed to go speak with the Captain.” Was the answer to his unasked question. “Plena’s back on duty as of last night. And Crowe has a cold.” Ah, so that was where the rest of the peanut gallery was.

What it did not explain was why Ostium-

 _“You_ can _call my friends by their first names you know.”_

...Why _Libertus_ made her walk all the way to the Infirmary on what was clearly a Bad Day.

It was obvious from the way Selena braced herself against the doorframe, secretly attempting to catch her breath after the undeniable toll her body just went through. How she tried hiding the violent shaking of her hands by clutching a travel mug to her chest.

Cor wasted no time helping her to her usual seat.

Bad Days were a result of an injury she’d taken during the fall of Galahd, one that never healed properly. It left her with a permanent limp and a tremor in her hands. Some days were fine, but other days, Bad Days, something as simple as walking up a flight of stairs took a tremendous amount of effort. On those days her hands shook so badly she couldn’t use open-topped cups, lest she spill the contents all over herself. Such days, understandably, left her and those around her in a sour mood.

“Thank you, Cor.”

“Don’t mention it. Do you need anything to drink?” He asked, prying the container from her shaking hands. “I have coffee and...tap water.”

Selena shook her head. “No, thank you.” She sounded drained. “I-um-do have a favor to ask of you, though.” She had a tendency to fiddle with the sash at her hip when she was nervous. Just like her brother.

“Go on.”

“I can’t...I can’t do Nyx’s braiding today. Not while I’m...like this.” The words were spat out, full of contempt for her own appendaged. “I know you don’t share our beliefs but...just for today...could you…?”

Could he perform Nyx’s morning rites in her stead? “Certainly.” He answered without hesitation. He’d seen this done a thousand times before. How hard could it be?

Selena’s responding thanks came out as an exhausted gust of air.

The Marshal makes short work of gathering the necessary items for the braiding, placing them beside the wooden plaque on the end table.

The plaque had been a gift from Kh- _Pelna_. He’d carved it himself from a bit of the makeshift gurney used to bring Selena to the mainland and gave it to the Ostiums on their wedding day as their secondary idol. (Nyx had cried when he saw it.)

“Ramuh.” The slight incline of his head was the only greeting he’d offer the Fulgurian. And Selena, we could do without the groaning, thanks. Cor would be respectful once the ceremony started, not a second before.

~~The Astrals didn’t deserve anything more than what Cor was willing to give.~~

With oh so gentle hands he ran the brush through Nyx’s hair once, twice. Tangles weren’t going to appear in those brown locks when the man who bore them couldn’t even turn his head to the side. Still, hair brushing was a privilege he was seldom allowed. Was it selfish of him to prolong the experience? A little. Surely Nyx would forgive him.

Deeming his Galahdan lover tangle free, Cor placed the brush down, replacing it with the bottle of oil and the tiny saucer. Using a dropper, he placed six little drops of oil onto the ceramic surface. The bottle rejoined the brush.

He dipped only the ends of his fingers into the dish, slicking the tips with oil. Seed oil, from the fruit of a plant that had been brought from Galahd over a century earlier and cultivated into something that was both a bastardized mockery and a necessity to the people who needed it for their daily rituals.

_“Only Galahdian oil is allowed. Made from a piece of Galahd by the hands of Galahd. This shit’s the closest we’ve got, hopefully Ramuh understands.”_

Before he can touch Nyx’s hair, he looks at the small plaque carrying the deity's name. “I pray in the name of Nyx Ulric.” He states. Not asking permission. Rather, _daring_ the god to stop him. “For he cannot pray for himself. I will pleat his hair and weave his prayers into each strand as he did when he was able.”

No lightning blasted through the window to smite him. Taking that as a good sign, he takes a chunk of hair between his fingertips, sliding them down the length from root to tip so that the entire strand was slick.

He takes a deep breath. The only regret he has is saddling Nyx with lopsided braids for the day, having never properly braided before. Nyx wouldn’t let him.

Oddly enough, this he would keep secret for years to come, the tops of his hands began tingling the moment he began separating the strands. Almost as if another set of hand were atop his, guiding him.

_“I’m very particular about my braids, Marshal. Don’t you know this by now?”_

Curled between his finger were three perfect Nyx strands.

Inhale. Begin. “I pray for your protection.” Curl one end under, the other over. Repeat. “For you to shield him from more hurt with your mighty hand. I pray for his health. For your rainstorms to be his lifeblood, to sustain him until he wakes and nourish him when he does. For you to bless him with a swift and full recovery.” By the end of his sentence, the braid is complete. He ties it off with an elastic, locking the prayers into the braid, and moves to the other side to repeat the oiling ritual. The new strands were perfectly portioned, just like the other side. His hands still tingled. “I pray for guidance. For Nyx. For his family. For your lightning to light his path back. For you to grant his family strength as they await his return.” _Grant_ **me** _strength_ . “I pray for your benevolence. To allow Nyx to wake and join his friends and family again.” _To come home._

As the second elastic snaps into place the tingles in his hands disappear.

Right above his ear was another tingling sensation. Short and sweet, like a kiss, and gone before he finishes his intake of breath.

His eyes stay glued to his lover’s face. Not even Selena maneuvering his arms around her in a facsimile of comfort or her weaseling her head beneath his chin caused him to look away.

Was Nyx…?

No, that couldn’t be.

*

**_I love you._ **

_Nyx grinned at him from across the training area. All teeth, like a coeurl._

**_I love you I love you I love you_ **

_The younger man tossed one of his Kukris, warping directly in front of Cor in an explosion of blues and oranges. “Something on your mind, Marshal?” His tone was just as cocky as the smile on his face._

**_IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_ **

_“Your form is sloppy, Ulric.”_

_Nyx’s grin got impossibly wider. “Then I guess I could use some more practice. You up for another round? Or are you too tired to keep up, Old Man?”_

_Cor lunges. Nyx Laughs. The crazy bastard._

**_I love you, Nyx Ulric._ **

**_I should have told you._ **

*

“I won’t say it.” He told the unconscious body the next morning, as if he were to blame for Cor’s most recent dream. “Not while you’re like this. You’re going to be awake when I tell you. You hear me, Ulric?”

The monitor beeped in response.

*

More days passed. The little ball of hope in Cor died a little more with each setting sun.

Even Pelna and Crowe were on the brink of giving up! They didn’t want to, they’d said, but even they found it hard to keep their spirits up when the doctors only had bad news to share.

The only ones whose hope never seemed to falter were the Ostiums.

*

Selena returned, as she always did, immediately cleaning her hands and getting to work getting to work on Nyx’s braids. Her fingers were swift and nimble. Her prayer just as quick.

“Do you know that I should be dead?” Came the quiet inquiry several heartbeats after the braids were tied off.

 _Yes_. It had been a secret that had spilled from Nyx’s lips after being attached to the bottle for too long. Selena had told him to help their mother, and in typical Nyx fashion, he didn’t. Opting instead to drag her to the shores of Galahd where there had been a sighting of Insomnian  troops.

“ _We woudda made it too-if th’ fuckin’ Niff didn’...she was a kid, Cor. And they_ shot _her, like she was ‘n animal tha’ needed t’ be put down._ ”

To hear her say it out loud in that room almost sounded like an insult.

But her eyes only held the storms of her homeland as she stared at her brother. “I know my brother, Cor. I know he feels guilty that he couldn’t save her-I do too. Every day I look in the mirror and all I see is the girl who failed her mother. What makes her special enough to live while _Mammi_ rots in a mass grave somewhere instead of in a proper burial-”

“- _Selena_ , _stop it_ .” Now’s not the time. He can’t have her breaking down-he was never good with tears. That was- _is-_ Nyx’s forte. The most Cor had to offer was an awkward hug that may or may not be accepted by his not-sister-in-law.

Thankfully such measures don’t need to be taken. She took her comfort into her own hands, sitting on the cot and kissing the top of her brother's head as Nyx had done to her countless times.

“ _Mammi_ would be livid if she saw you now, and you know it. So why do you…?”

Then, the storm in her eyes became too strong to contain. Tears spilled down her cheeks and onto Nyx’s head like the rains in flood season.

“It’s not _fair_ .” She choked. “It’s not fair that I have to sit here and see him like this, knowing I can’t do _anything_ and... I could be in this room again sometime in the future seeing him _worse_ -” Her words broke off into watery, hysterical laughter. “I might actually kill him when he wakes up, just for all the trouble he’s caused. Asshole.”

_When._

Because there was no doubt in her mind that her brother would wake. Not like Cor’s traitorous psyche that whispered in honey coated doubts any time Nyx’s fate was brought up. Maybe it was because he was fundamentally a worse person than she.

Or maybe it was a simpler fact. That Selena Ostium, at her core, was an Ulric.

And Ulrics were unquestionably the most stubborn fucking species Cor had ever met.

If she believed that her brother would wake, then it would take nothing short of bidding his corpse goodbye for her to believe it.

*

Sponge baths only did so much.

Oh sure, they did a good enough job keeping the skin clean, but as the days turned to weeks, and the oil built up in Nyx’s hair, it became obvious that they were severely lacking. Nyx would be _horrified_ to see the state his hair was in.

_“It’s not vanity, it’s personal hygiene!”_

“He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.” Libertus grimaced the first time he noticed the flakes at Nyx’s scalp.

Pelna was much the same. “I’ve never seen his hair look so…” There were no polite words to describe the state of Nyx’s locks.

“Can I take a picture for blackmail purposes?” Crowe asked, already snapping a collection of different angled photos.

Selena actually cried as she scrubbed as much crust from his hair as she was able. “He looks _awful_.”

Cor would silently listen to each comment, rolling his eyes when necessary. The only comment he ever made about his lover’s hair was a firm, final “No.” that left no room for debate when one of the more close-minded nurses had the audacity to demand they stop the oiling. Because this  was Nyx’s culture and it should- _would_ be respected. She had left the room shaking like a leaf.

Libertus snuck him in some homebrew for that. 

*

After so many days, shaving seemed like an unnecessary nuisance. Nyx wasn’t awake to complain, and neither the nurses nor his Glaives cared so why put in the effort?

Sure his face itched to hell and back, and his facial hair had long since passed the point where it could be considered stubble, but not even that was enough to motivate him to leave his place at Nyx’s bedside.

He’d found himself doing that more and more often. Leaving _only_ when he had to, and making up any excuse to stay _just in case_ . Hell, a few nights prior he’d pissed in a _bottle_ because the bathroom was just too far away!

_“That’s not pragmatic, that’s laziness, Cor. Get your butt out of bed!”_

The nurses were starting to worry about him.

They needn’t worry, though. He was fine!

Just...worried.

On the other side of the door, unmistakable to Cor’s ears after years of training, came shuffling, a clicking of heels signifying someone standing at attention. It came to no surprise when the door opened and Regis strut into the room.

The King had taken one look at his friend and tsked. “Trying out a new look I see. I hear Vagabond is all the rage in Altissia nowadays.”

“Fuck off Regis.”

“You know, most people are more respectful when they speak to their King.”

“Most people haven’t seen their King fall off the back of his Chocobo because he wanted to take a drunken joyride at three a.m.” Regis tried to play his wince off as a result of maneuvering his bad leg as he made himself comfortable on Cor’s cot.

“Ah, I had hoped you’d forgotten that.” The Marshal shrugged. Like he’d ever forget that bit of blackmail material.

They fall into a comfortable silence. Cor avoiding catching the King’s sympathetic gaze by staring at Tom the Tonberry. Not even Regis’s inscessent cane tapping against the linoleum was enough for him to cave.

Finally, the King caved. He sighed.

“...when was the last time you showered Cor?” He had rinsed down that morning, thank you very much Regis. He had just forgotten to grab his soap. Telling Regis only made the dubious look contort into something even more leary.

Cor bristled. “I _did_!” Six, it was like he was a teenager again, where Regis would double, triple, and quadruple check that their entourage had bathed before getting into his precious Regalia.

“Alright, alright. I believe you…” The King tried and failed to hide a soft chuckle by clearing his throat. “When was the last time you left this room, I wonder?”

“I leave every day; ICU rules state-”

“-I think I know better than most about the regulations regarding visitor occupancy.” A sharp look had the Marshal turning away, shame flashing over his face. _Right_.

 _Mors_.

 _Aulea_.

 _Noctis_.

“I’m not the only family he has Regis. He’s got more people waiting for him here than he thinks, and they are entitled to their time with him just as much as I am.”  

Cor would leave as soon as the other Galahdans rapped on the doorframe, spending hours traversing the two Infirmary levels, maybe stopping by his office for a while, but always returning, needing to be close.

“Mm hmm, and when was the last time you’ve seen the inside of your apartment?”

“That’s irrelevant.”   

He hadn’t been there since the day of his breakdown. Wouldn’t go back while it was empty, finding it more suffocating there than in the ICU.

“Hmm.”

There was that tone again. The one that teetered the line of tauntingly patronizing. One that made Cor’s teeth gnash together.

“I’m  _fine_ Regis.” He was. His daily caloric intake was normal, he had a healthy amount of water during the day, he had gotten more than two hours of sleep last night, and he talked to people! More than just a simple greeting- _actual_ conversations!

(Those people were more often than not Selena and the three Glaives, but Regis didn’t need to know that.)

See? He was fine.

 _Really_.

“Oh yes, you seem to be doing _just fine_ locking yourself away in the Infirmary. The circles under your eyes are almost black. You’re paler than I ever remember seeing you, and just look at how many lovely wrinkles you’ve gotten!” The King mocked. “Six Cor, you look older than I do!” Regis took a deep breath. “You’re destroying yourself Cor. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’m not-”

“You _are_.” Suddenly Regis looked old. Older than the the ring made him look. “I’ve had some very worried people calling me at all hours of the day to voice their concerns about you. It’s not just Clarus, before you say it. Or Miss Elshett. You have plenty of people who care about you, Cor. They’re just as worried about you as they are for Mister Ulric.” Ah, Selena and the Glaives then. Traitors.

“What is it you want me to _do_ , Regis?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Clearly not, if he had to be asked. “I want you to get out of the Citadel and do something fun. Go take a nap for all I care! Just get out of here for a few hours and get some sun!”

“Is that an order, Sir?”

“ _Yes_.”

Which was how Cor found himself bullied out of the Citadel, standing out in real sunlight for the first time in weeks.

It was awful.

Too bright and too hot and too far away from Nyx.

There wasn’t even anything for him to _do_! Everyone he’d willingly spend time with was either working or in the building he was temporarily barred from. Good going Regis.

Still, Cor let himself wander. To his favorite cafe to get a coffee and one of those pastries Nyx loved so much. To the park by their apartment, where Nyx would jog every morning. To Little Galahd. To Nyx’s favorite…

...Oh.

He _might_ not be coping as well as he thought.

(Not that Regis would ever hear that from him.)

He sat on the steps by a little food vendor-coincidentally one Nyx and his friends often frequented-staring at the neon signs that lined the street.

_“I don’t know how you survived without me.”_

Nyx would be so disappointed to see the sorry state he put himself in. They _knew_ something like this could happen, one day. He and Nyx had mutually agreed that should something happen to one of them, they wouldn’t wallow in misery. That they’d make an effort to go on.

And what was Cor doing? Wallowing and making no effort whatsoever to continue his day-to-day. Because what good was a life without Nyx by his side?

He wondered then, if the situation was reversed, if Nyx would handle it better.

“A little birdie told me that you got kicked out of the Citadel for the day.” Pelna said as he plopped onto the step beside him.

“Only because a pack of weasels went running to the King.” He wasn’t making accusations, merely stating a fact. Pelna winced anyway.

“Can you blame us? You look like you’re the one who should be in ICU!” He did _not_ look that bad! ...Maybe. “Look, I’m not going to apologize. But...how about a peace offering? You can crash at my place for a few hours. Keeps you out of the Citadel and away from the general population.”

Well...it beat Cor’s current plan of wasting away the hours by staring at nothing.

“And,” Pelna added to sweeten the deal. “I have a six pack of beer in my fridge with your name on it.”

The prospect of beer had Cor standing. “Let’s go.”

Pelna’s apartment was a shitty little studio in the barracks of Little Galahd. Nyx used to live two floors above him. The layout was the same, small and awkward, though much cleaner than hi lover’s had ever been. There was a loveseat where Nyx’s recliner would have been, and Cor made a beeline for it.

“Here.” Pelna passed him a beer.

It was blessedly cold, and gone before he realized he’d taken a second sip. The Glaive didn’t bother with smalltalk. Just alternated between passing him a beer or a bottle of water until Cor told him to stop.

If slurring out “‘s nuff” before passing out counted as telling him to stop, then that’s exactly what Cor did.

He woke sometime later to a killer headache and a full bladder. He should probably feel refreshed after a...who knows how many hours nap (the sun was much closer to the horizon now than it had been when he first arrived), but all he felt was grogginess…

...and nausea.

Pelna sat on his bed, typing away at his phone, still visibly sober. The bastard. “Oh, you’re awake.” He said when he noticed the Marshal’s staring. “Crowe’s getting ready to take Selena home. Said it was safe for you to come out of the doghouse”

Safe to go back to Nyx.

Except...not like this, half drunk and ready to keel over. He wouldn’t be able to focus Selena would have a heart attack, and then Nyx would wake up _just_ to beat the shit out him.

(...He was going to beat himself up for even _considering_ it. Apparently he was drunker than he thought.)

He needed to make himself presentable; pretend to be a functioning member of society for a few minutes.

“Can I use your shower?”

*

Nyx hadn’t died while he was gone. He was still there, exactly where Cor left him.

He _did_ get his stitches removed. His head was now officially devoid of bandaging.

Did...did that mean he was getting better?

~~Cor might have to leave more often if this was what he came back to.~~

*

On the twenty eight day, Cor picks up the plaque bearing the Fulgurian’s name in one hand, staring at each etched letter like it was a puzzle.

_“Back in Galahd, Ramuh would send the rains to show that he heard our prayers. He didn’t answer all of them-if any, but he always let us know he listened.”_

It hadn’t rained in weeks, since before Nyx had been deployed to Cleigne.

By that logic Ramuh had either not heard the prayers of his worshippers, or he was ignoring them. If the latter were the truth, that was unforgivable.

With a sigh, Cor reached his free hand out, brushing away the shorter strands of hair from Nyx’s forehead. Oil shined on his fingers. He made a mental note to wash Nyx’s face later.

The plaque was a solid weight cradled in between his hands. Sturdy enough to stand on its own, light enough to be easily carried. On the corner, the oil from Cor’s thumb smudged against the wooden surface. Hopefully no one would notice. Or care.

“I don’t know why you’re ignoring them. They adore you, trust that you’re watching over them. But you’re not, are you?” He glanced out the window. Nothing but the orange skies of twilight, warped by the shimmers of the New Wall. “They’ve done the best they could to acclimate themselves here in Insomnia, to try and merge both ways of living. They face prejudice at every turn by Lucians who no longer know what it means to be devout, by Lucians who don’t understand what it’s like to lose _everything_. Your people are strong and resilient. They keep going and performing their adapted rituals in the hopes that you’ll acknowledge them.

“But that’s not good enough for you, is it? You’d rather let your people suffer for what? _Purity_ ? Is their love, their devotion, not pure enough? What kind of god is callous enough to withhold his divine protection over something as petty as _that_ ? Times have changed, whether you like it or not. If you can’t figure something out-be it a way to hear all their prayers as you did before or getting over unjustified pettiness because the rituals aren’t what _you’re_ used to-then maybe you don’t deserve to have the faith of these incredible people.” By the end of his tirade, Cor’s damn near panting. Infuriated by the sleight against the people he had come to care so deeply for. Infuriated because he _knows_ the might of the gods. Knows that they’re capable of giving life just as they are taking it.

If they had no problem turning a man into a husk because of the house he was borne to then they should have no problem helping those who worshipped them still.

_“He loves us Cor. I know it.”_

Another sigh passes through his lips, taking all of his fight with it until Cor’s slumped low in his seat. “If you love them as much as he thinks you do then prove it. Show mercy and let him wake. _Please_.”

Sleep was merciful enough to claim him.

That night, if one had their window open, they could hear the sounds of the urban wilderness mingling with the rolling rumbles of thunder. For the first time in weeks, the skies opened, flooding the concrete forest that was Insomnia.

*

_“You’re being surprisingly patient, Marshal.”_

_They were laying face-to-face on their bed._ Their _bed, the one piled high with soft blankets atop it’s softer pillow top, not the uncomfortable cots the Infirmary provided._

 _Nyx looked good, really good. Like he_ hadn’t _been on death’s doorstep for the last month. His cheeks were flushed, blue eyes drinking in every minute change in Cor’s features since they last looked up him._

 _This was a dream. It_ had _to be._

_He reached out to see if the man was real. Fear gripped his heart in a vice like grip. What if he couldn’t touch him? What if Nyx disappeared?_

_When his fingertips met warm flesh, tracing the outline of his tattoo, Cor almost shed a tear._

_This was a_ real _nice dream._

_Nyx caught his hand, eyes falling closed as he pressed a kiss to the palm. “I’ve missed you Cor.” He mumbled into the skin._

_“I’ve...I’ve missed you too.” There was no use pretending. Not with Nyx. Fake or not._

_The younger man let out a quiet laugh. Six, had Cor missed that sound! “Do you know how bored I’ve been, stuck in my own mind?” He sounded so put out, so much like the real Nyx that it was like a physical blow to the chest._

_Still, Cor couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Well there isn’t much going on in there so my guess is very.” His comment earned a playful smack to his pectoral._

_"_ Rude _.”_

_“You love me.”_

_“I do.” In one fluid movement, Nyx hooked his leg over Cor’s hip, pinned the older man’s back against the mattress, and straddled his waist. “Cor, I_ really _don’t think you know how much I love you.” His fingers were as rough as Cor remembered. They cradled his face like he was something precious. “Even if your beard needs a good trim.” Despite his words, Nyx reached down, pressing their lips together in a painfully sweet kiss. “Ohh, I’ve missed that.” Was groaned against his lips._

 _“I’ve missed_ **you** _.” Astrals, he finally cracked. This Nyx, who wore his love’s face and braids and tattoos, couldn’t_ possibly _be real. And yet, though every logical part of his brain screamed that this was merely a figment of his imagination, Cor didn’t believe it. Didn’t believe that he could make up something so lifelike. How could the brain imitate the feeling of warm breath against his face? Or the precise shade of red his sclera got as Nyx’s eyes filled with tears? Or the tightening of Nyx’s jaw as he fought the urge to do something impulsive (but oh so wanted) like kiss Cor senseless?_

 _No. Somehow, this was Nyx._ His _Nyx._

_And he’d be damned if he let Nyx slip away again before Cor could say ‘I love you’._

_“Nyx, I-”_

He woke up to the shrill noise of his alarm. Beside him, Nyx slept on.

*

On the twenty ninth day, Cor found himself once again wrangled out of the Infirmary.

“It'll be good for you.” Regis's voice had been soft and kind, but there was no hiding the underlying command in his words.

Not once did he notice the darken colors of wet cement outside.

He found himself in the practice hall, supervising the Prince's training for the first time in months. Eyes following each warp and strike with well concealed pride.

The moment his phone begins buzzing, Cor doesn’t hesitate to take it out of his pocket. Neither the Prince nor his shield notice his distraction.

One look at the name and he’s swiping the answer button.

“Selena?”

“ _Cor…_ ”

She’s crying.

**Author's Note:**

> The premise of this stemmed from: What would happen to a person in game if they got injured while being healed with a curative. and it snowballed from there.
> 
> *I'm going to spruce this up and fix some things at a later date, I just wanted to get this out today because I've been putting off my homework. whOOPS


End file.
